The Depressing Reality of Most People’s Existence

Update: In hindsight, I was in a very emotionally dark place when I wrote this blog post. I’ve since written a follow-up and deeper reflection, here.

I’ve been somewhat dissociated from reality recently.

I’ve been living a fairly unconventional life… especially over the last few years. Working on a sex app. Pursuing a vision. From a beach in Thailand. Dabbling in rather esoteric ideas. Spirituality and Tantra and stuff. Making conversation with the depths of my being and god and all that jazz.

But today. I started a new job. In London. Wearing a shirt.

I say job, loosely. It’s a freelance gig. I’m intending to bring in some quick cash to regain some safety in myself so that I can then pursue The Next Big Thing.

So I’m working at this agency. They have a big client. Automobile. We’re rebuilding their global website with all the gubbins.

I arrive in the morning at a fancy big glass building. Modern. Open plan. And clever lifts — the ones where you tell the computer which floor you’d like to go to before you even get in the lift and it tells you which lift to get in. One of those. Don’t get in the wrong lift by accident, though. All hell will break loose.

Anyway, I’m shown around by the office manager lady. The usual new staff stuff like fire escapes, toilets, the stationary drawer, canteen. A subsidised canteen, I must add. But I can’t use it. I’m just a contractor. That’s only for special people — “employees.”

She is showing myself and the new project tech lead around the office. We meet a few people. Say hi. Everyone is sitting at their desks in cute little rows. Most of the young professionals have music on so are oblivious to what’s going on around them. The team look zombified. Gazing into these sparkly little square bits of plastic. Screens. Yes, that’s right. They’re called screens. One guy is even doing something rather unconventional in an office… he’s STANDING — at a desk! Madness, I thought. He’s special.

I’m shown my desk and I say hi to a few cute girls sitting next to me in the office. That little rush of excitement fades away when I remember I have a girlfriend. I’m given a few bits of white paper with ink on them that resemble some sort of agreement that I won’t leak private information about the automobile client. Sure, sure. I’ve got better things to do with my life. I promise you. But that font you used — seriously?

I get setup on the corporate network. Pleasantly surprised with how easy the instructions were to connect to the VPN and I get into the company’s Slack and things like that. Still no email tho, that’ll have to wait. Error messages ya know? Like licenses for Outlook or something. There’s always something.

And so there I am. Sitting at my desk in a comfy black chair looking at a computer screen in a non-descript office block in the middle of London getting paid top dollar.

Questioning.

Every.

Fucking.

Thing.

Why am I here? Who are these people? What’s the point if me doing this? What’s the point of life? Why am I doing this to my self? Run way! Get out! You haven’t signed the contract yet!

I look around and try to start a few conversations, ya know? Get a feel for the people that are around me. I’m mostly greeted with smiles and welcomes. Pleasantries. Very little realness. Like robots. Agreeable. An alright bunch.

Not much aliveness though. Little in the way of feelings. Or expression. Other than the mouthy woman in the “show and tell” who had something to say about EVERYTHING.

Furthermore, that wasn’t a fucking “show and tell” — it was a fucking design review. Come on people. It’s like kindergarten in here.

I dunno. As I write this, I question am I being too egoist? elitist? looking down on people? I’m judging myself for even saying these things but then I remember…

…this is why I’m not living a fucking conventional fucking life. Because this god damn SUCKS!

Where’s the character? Aliveness? Passion for work? Appreciation and excitement for FUCKING LIVING?! 8 hrs a day. People sit here. DOING THIS?!

I see nothing. None of it. Zero. Fucking zero aliveness in this office.

It’s like I’m surrounded by the walking fucking dead. Conditioned to be robots in the corporate bullshit. Numbed by pharmaceuticals. And alcohol.

Yet here I am, in the same fucking office. A slave to the monetary regime of the monopoly that the teeny tiny elite have on the human race.

But.

Aware. Awake. I know what’s on the other side.

Just 4 weeks ago I felt FUCKING alive. Feeling the full depth and breadth of FEELINGS! Of passion. Of pain and depression. Of Pleasure. of JOY. Of LOVE.

I know that reality exists. I’ve seen it. I’ve toyed with it. I’ve stepped into it.

It’s like taking the red pill, ya know?

Nothing is ever going to be the same again.

But I can still come and play in this ‘real’ world.

Just with a greater sense of awareness and knowing how I can shape it.

My life.

My reality.

My FUCKING AWESOME lucid dreamed fractionalized perfectly geometric and balanced virtual fucking reality.

How shall we play, today?

❤

p.s. I just went to publish this post and was suggested the following tag: ‘fiction’.